Double Spiral War Trilogy

by Warren Norwood

  “Is that all?” Delightful Childe asked.

  “Yes.”

  “You are serious? How would I know how to stop their war? They attacked us, and we are neutral. They steal from the neutral Cloiseans. We have no idea how to stop them.”

  “That is highly regrettable,” the Verfen voice said. “We had great hope that you would be able to assist us. However, since you cannot, we offer to Oina, through your good offices, our eternal protection.”

  The offer was so absurd that Delightful Childe had no response.

  “Do you belittle our offer?”

  “I find it incomprehensible.”

  “Our apologies, Delightful Childe.”

  “You have no need to apologize.” He waited, but there was no response. “Verfen? Are you still there?” he asked. Again there was no response. After several more attempts he gave up. They were obviously no longer in a communicating mood.

  With a wrinkle of his shoulders he began reprogramming his navigation computer. It was only when Housa reentered subspace that he appreciated the full frightening impact of his meeting with the Verfen. Whatever they were, they had fearful powers he couldn’t begin to comprehend, and he could only hope they had the wisdom to use those powers peacefully.

  27

  AYNE WALLEN STARED WITH MOROSE DISDAIN at the worthless weapon. Ultimate Weapon! There was no such thing. This was a terrible hoax perpetrated on him by Sjean Birkie and Caugust Drautz.

  And Xindella – the one and only same Xindella who had handed him ten pieces of gorlet an hour before and told him there was no more gorlet aboard the ship. Ayne had four pieces left.

  He hadn’t believed Xindella at first, but now he did, and he knew that no matter what happened, he was going to have to suffer through the agonies of withdrawal. For what? he asked himself. To remain a slave to Xindella? To fix the Gouldrive so Xindella could turn him over to the Yednoshpfa woman and her partner? What would they do? Make him work on the weapon.

  And when he finished that, what then? They would dispose of him because he would no longer have any value to them. Why live for that? Why suffer through withdrawal to end up useless with no place to go in the whole galaxy?

  He wouldn’t do it. He would kill himself first. As soon as that thought hit him, Ayne knew it was the only answer. Death alone could free him from the slavery, from the agonies of withdrawal, and from a hopeless future. Death was a doorway out, a way to show them all that he was a free man. “Death is the final answer to the questions of life,” his grandmere had been fond of saying.

  Before Ayne killed himself, he wanted to make one final mark against those who had been so cruel to him. But what? As he stared at the weapon, an idea came to him that was so simple it almost made him laugh. With a few spare parts from the Gouldrive he would turn Sjean Birkie’s weapon into his own, a weapon that would destroy anyone who tampered with it.

  He prayed that Xindella would be the one, but he could not be choosy. Anyone who wanted the weapon badly enough move it off this planet would receive his final salutation to the living.

  Putting one piece of gorlet into his mouth, he sat and savored its sweetness until only a hint of its flavor remained in his mouth. Then he put the other three pieces of gorlet on the shelf beside him and went to get the parts from the Gouldrive. That is where Xindella found him.

  “What progress are you making on the Gouldrive?” Xindella asked.

  “Good progress. With true fortune we should have it ready before withdrawal begins,” Ayne said, trying to force a smile onto his face. “You can help us.” He knew Xindella’s hatred of any physical labor and hoped for the same response he had received before when he suggested that Xindella assist him.

  “I would only be in your way,” Xindella said. “I am sorry about the gorlet, Citizen Wallen, but you must remember that I tried to warn you.”

  “We remember that. If you will not help, then please leave us alone so we may finish quickly.” To Ayne’s great relief Xindella left, and Ayne prayed that was the last he would ever see of the Oinaise scoundrel.

  For the first time since they had landed on this airless planet, Ayne was grateful for something. Its light gravity enabled him to carry all the parts he wanted in one trip. He gathered them together and walked back to the cargo bay.

  There he ate another piece of gorlet and, as he sucked on its sweetness, began assembling the parts. While eating the third piece, he coupled his new mechanism to the weapon and connected its wires carefully so that they looked like all the other wires. Only Sjean Birkie could have recognized that something was wrong.

  Finally, he looked around the cargo bay and decided that the overhead winch would have to serve his purpose. His hands began to shake as he wired a small timer into the winch’s controls, but he only had one piece of gorlet left to stop the shaking, and he was saving that for the end.

  When everything was ready, he picked up the last piece of gorlet, slipped a loop of the winch’s steel cable around his neck, started the timer, and popped the last piece of gorlet into his mouth.

  Fifteen seconds later, as the taste of the gorlet was disappearing down his throat, the winch began winding in its cable. Suddenly, Ayne didn’t want to die – not like this. There had to be a better way.

  He tried to reach the winch’s controls, but it was too late. The cable was already tightening, biting into his flesh. He tried to stop it, to hold the noose open with his fingers.

  Call for help, he thought. Call for help. Only a gurgling sound came from his mouth. Then his kicking feet left the deck.

  When Xindella came back to check on Wallen an hour later, he found a bug-eyed corpse with a face blackened by blood hanging from the overhead winch.

  ◊ ◊ ◊

  “More hunks, Admiral!” the Watch Leader exclaimed.

  “Steady,” Gilbert said. “That’s why our fighters are out there. They’ll take care of them.” He made a mental note to have that Watch Leader replaced if she didn’t calm down. No commander needed anyone that excitable in the Battle Center. “What’s our range to Shakav?”

  “Two hundred eighty thousand kilometers, and closing at point one per hour, sir.”

  Gilbert turned to the young Quarter-Admiral beside him. “Dixie, what’s our current disposition?”

  “All attack flights have launched, sir. Fighter defense is at range. Reserves are ready. Madison is underway with a skeleton crew, the rest having transferred to the Curtis.”

  “I think you should hold your reserves, Dixie. Don’t you agree, Pilot Dougglas?”

  “I do for now, sir.”

  “For now is all we’re worried about. Pull the fighters in a little closer if you have to, but don’t launch the reserves before the refueling changeover unless you both agree that it is absolutely necessary.”

  “Understood, sir.”

  “Excellent. I’ll be in the senior wardroom getting something to eat if you need me. If not, as soon as I’ve eaten, I’ll relieve you so you can do the same.” He accepted her salute and left the New McQuay’s Battle Center.

  The senior wardroom was less than a hundred steps away, so he didn’t feel as if he was really leaving. His stomach had been complaining for an hour, and now that the engagement with the Ukes was settling into a pattern, there was no necessity for him to be in the Battle Center every minute. After twenty hours there he felt as if he deserved thirty minutes for a quiet meal.

  Uke resistance was proving to be stronger than he had hoped it would be but less than he had prepared for. Whatever else anyone wanted to say about the Ukes, their space forces had proved to be excellently trained, and steadily determined when they went into combat.

  When the wardroom steward brought his food, Gilbert forced himself to eat slowly. He wondered how Mica was doing with General Schopper and if she had found the opportunity to tell Henley Stanmorton how she felt about him. That reminded Gilbert of his brief days with Charlene Pajandcan, and a flood of feelings and questions followed that thought, the m
ost important of which was how she was faring in her battle against Buth.

  Suddenly, he realized his plate was empty, and he was still hungry. He stood up and stretched his tired muscles. He could have asked for more food, and it would have been brought to him immediately, but he believed that a little hunger was good for a commander in combat. Hunger gave him an edge. A full stomach usually tended to make him drowsy. “It’s age,” he muttered.

  He made a quick trip to the head to relieve the pressure on his bladder, and then went back to the Battle Center to relieve Admiral Dixie. The first thing he noticed was that a veteran Tech Mate had relieved the excitable Watch Leader. The second thing he noticed was a great deal of activity on the perimeter screens.

  Dixie followed his gaze, then said, “We’ve counted twenty-two hunks so far, including five of the Wu class. We’ve destroyed or disabled four of the old hunks, but none of the Wu class.”

  “They worry you, Dixie?”

  “They do, sir.”

  “Me, too.” Gilbert watched the screens for a few seconds, then said, “Dougglas, how long before the refueling changeover?”

  “Forty minutes, sir,” the Flight Corps commander said.

  “Suppose we send part of the reserves out early to chase hunks? Would that help?”

  Pilot Dougglas grinned. “It would, sir.”

  “Then do it. Dixie, go get something to eat – and then try to get some sleep. I’ll call you if we need you.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  Gilbert watched as Dougglas’s orders were acknowledged and executed. A new swarm of fighters formed on the screen and split into little attack groups to chase the hunks. So far only the Madison had sustained serious damage, and Gilbert wondered how long their luck could last. Even with the fighters absorbing the brunt of the Ukes’ counterattack, he expected more of them to break through to the line ships.

  Maybe his tactic of getting as close to Shakav as possible was having the effect he had hoped for. That’s what he wanted to believe, but it was far too soon to try to make that kind of judgment.

  As if in response to his thought, the Tech Mate said, “Perimeter breakdown, Admiral, seventh sector.”

  Gilbert saw it as soon as he looked at the screens. Three, possibly four Uke cruisers had broken through the fighters and were coming at the body of his fleet from fore-underside of the imaginary sphere in which the planet Shakav was the locus and his line of flight determined the arbitrary equatorial plane.

  “Launching all reserves,” Pilot Dougglas said.

  Again new swarms of fighters appeared on the New McQuay’s screens and in attack formations of four or eight went straight for the Uke cruisers. It quickly became an unfair fight, and everyone except the Ukes seemed to know it. They weren’t prepared to ward off that many fighters at once.

  Three hours later Admiral Dixie returned to the Battle Center in time to see Dougglas’s fighters knock the last cruisers out of action. The remaining Uke hunks had retreated to fight battles they were better designed for.

  “I think we’re winning,” Dixie said.

  “Never count your victories, Admiral,” Gilbert replied, “until the war’s over and won.”

  ◊ ◊ ◊

  “It’s all bad news,” Frye said as Melliman entered his office. “The Saks now have total control in the Ivy Chain. Our defensive fleet is retreating from Thayne-G. Shakav is taking a beating. Only Buth is putting up solid resistance, but the reports from there indicate shortages of everything except courage.” He shook his head sadly.

  “What I don’t understand, sir,” she said as she sat beside desk, “is where are they getting all the ships to do this? And how are they supplying them?”

  “They must have had one incredible crash building program going on since the war started – and even then I never would have guessed they could amass enough trained crews and ground troops to launch a three-pronged attack.”

  “I hate to say this, sir, but it looks like Barra’s warning was correct again.”

  “And that’s another thing, Clarest. What’s happened to Barra? Her last message was only a fragment, and nothing has followed it. I’m afraid for her.” How strange, Frye thought, to be afraid for a daughter he never really knew while rarely ever thinking about Marsha anymore.

  “I’ve been afraid for her from the beginning.” Melliman hesitated. “I’m also afraid I have to add to all the bad news. I just received a call from Anshuwu Tashawaki. Lieutenant Oska died this morning.”

  Frye cursed softly. “Does anyone know where Judoff is?”

  “She was here yesterday, but I don’t know if-”

  “In Decie’s name, Clarest. Find out. I want to know where she is from now on.”

  Melliman stood up. “Let me send Lieutenant Nellnix down to Watchguard with a request in your name to keep constant track of her, and I’ll send Raybourn to see if she can find out where Judoff is right now.”

  “Yes, good – I’m sorry, Clarest. I didn’t mean to sound-”

  “I understand,” she said as she headed for the door. “Don’t worry about it.”

  During the thirty minutes she was gone, Frye tried to set aside his anger and frustration by composing a note of condolence to Madam Tashawaki, forcing himself to use the most strictly traditional language and form for that courtesy. It was as though the discipline required to compose the note reinforced the discipline necessary to control his emotions. When he finished, he felt better for having done both.

  “Brig Leader Lawrence was most receptive to your request,” Melliman said as she reentered the office. “Nellnix wasn’t available, so I went myself. Seems Lawrence was fully prepared to have Watchguard begin monitoring Judoff as soon as someone asked him to. But Lawrence asked me a question I couldn’t answer. Will Bridgeforce formally deny Judoff now?”

  “I don’t know, Clarest. As far as I know, there’s no precedent for this. Lotonoto has already submitted a written motion for Denial and Indictment. Hadasaki wrote the second, but we have no third.”

  “Can’t you do it?” she asked as she sat down.

  He shook his head. “I wish I could, but the rules say no. Normally I can vote to break a tie, but I can’t second or third a motion. In this case with seven of the nine members eligible to vote, there will be no tie.”

  “Won’t Langford or Baird third the motion?”

  “Baird might, especially now that Oska has died But Drew, Toso, and Garner are almost guaranteed to vote against the motion regardless of what they think of Judoff, which leave Langford as the probable determining factor.”

  “And he’s in debt to the kyosei,” Melliman said.

  “Exactly. And this is one of those times they’ll demand his allegiance. He’s gone against them too often on little things, and I’m sure they’ve already reminded him of his debt.”

  Melliman leaned back, closed her eyes, and sighed. “Maybe we could give him a way out. Suppose Baird was to third the motion and Langford were to abstain from voting?”

  “The kyosei would scream.”

  “They might, but from what I’ve seen, Langford seems to enjoy upsetting them. Besides, before they had influence over the majority of Bridgeforce, they used abstentions all the time.”

  Frye smiled at her. “All right, someone talks Langford into abstaining. What then?”

  “Then you could vote to break the tie.”

  “But first Baird has to third the motion. If Hadasaki can convince her to do that, then I think we would have a much better chance of convincing Langford to abstain.”

  “Shall I contact Meister Hadasaki?”

  “No. I’ll do it.” Frye picked up his lightpen and started writing on the small padscreen built into his desk. In his clear, concise hand he outlined the possibilities, signed the note, and punched in Hadasaki’s private memo code.

  “There, he said, pushing the transmit button. “ That will go straight to Hadasaki, and he can deal with it as he thinks best. Now, Clarest, let’s review this civilian au
xiliary plan of yours one more time before we present it to Bridgeforce.”

  28

  “NOTHING YET,” MARSHA SAID AS LUCKY walked into the cabin and slumped into the pilot chair. They were both tired and irritable after four hundred fruitless hours of trying to find Xindella’s ship on the airless rock they were searching. “You’d think he’d be sending some kind of signal we could pick up.”

  “Unless they crashed,” Lucky said grimly, “in which case all of this is for nothing.”

  “It’s for nothing, anyway,” she said bitterly.

  Her tone jolted Lucky. “What do you mean, Mars? I thought you were the one who insisted that we follow through on this.”

  “That was before. This is now. If Xindella and Wallen die on that oversized asteroid, who are we to care?”

  He reached over and put a hand on her arm. “Is that it? I’m sorry, Mars. I thought – hoped we had worked through your identity problem.”

  His assumption irritated her. “I love you, Lucky, but sometimes you’re so damn sympathetic that it drives me to the edge. I told you, it’s not an identity problem. It’s that I just don’t know where I fit in anymore. You’re the only solid thing in my life, but I can’t expect you to support me all the time. I have to stand by myself.”

  “You want to talk about it some more?”

  “No. Not now. Later maybe, okay?”

  “Mars, you know that I would be glad to-”

  “Housa calling Graycloud. Housa calling Graycloud. Are you receiving me, Captain Teeman?”

  “Well, look who finally showed up,” Marsha said.

  “Yes, Delightful Childe,” Lucky said with a sigh of relief.

  “We are receiving you very clearly. What took you so long, partner? Can you follow our signal in?”

  “I can,” Delightful Childe’s voice said. “Have you located my worthless cousin?”

  “No. But we have a fairly accurate idea of where he isn’t.”

  “What an odd way you have of phrasing things, partner. Now that I have your direction firmly established, I suggest that you continue your search.”